Just another day
by ShadowPlain
Summary: Right. An attempt at angst. Dont kill me with nasty reviews or death threats! VinceCentered. PreZooniverse. Should be read as a standalone, as it is not related to my other boosh stories.
1. Chapter 1

"Vince are you almost done in there? I've go to get to work as well you know!" Howard knocked on the door to the bathroom, which had been in use for the past 5 hours.

"Go away!" A muffled voice shouted back. "Shit! Thanks! Now I've burnt myself with the straightners!" A plug was viciously ripped from the socket and the door flew open, as Vince shoved past, nursing a raw burn mark on his arm. He was always so moody these days, but Howard couldn't to stick around. He had work to get to, at the local musical instrument store, but more importantly to see gorgeous Melinda…one of his co-workers, and more importantly, single. He daydreamed for a while longer then finally began the morning routine.

Vince was sat on the edge of the bed packing sandwiches into a crumpled plastic bag. It was what he did every morning, in a set routine, or actually, more of a ritual. Got up at the same time every single day, got washed, brushed his teeth, made the bed, made sure everything was in its correct place...the list went on. The bright posters on the wall were annoying him. Howard was annoying him. Why was everyone so bloody happy? Did they think he was happy, because he's always cracking jokes and taking the time to get dressed and obsess over his looks? Because that's what it was really. And compulsion to make sure everything was perfect, even though inside it wasn't. And that hurt like hell.

And then there was work. Stuck in a fabric warehouse. He thought it would be great at first, all that stuff he could use for customizing, all at a discount price, but the other workers, or 'colleagues' as the were meant to be called made his life hell, with cruel jibes, probably because he didn't fit in with the other blokey-blokes, who wore bland jeans and even blander t-shirts.

Sighing, he headed downstairs, after doing one last check of everything. The smell of toast and fatty burnt bacon wafted heavily through the air. Vince shuddered and went to take a seat at the table. Bollo was making some form of huge towering toast pile and Naboo was sat on the sofa with his girlfriend, who had apparently come to the flat really early…or maybe she stayed over. They were both to smitten to even notice his appearance.

A few minutes elapsed, in which he sat, sipping his drink slowly, trying to make some sense of his life. Howard soon joined him wordlessly sitting then staring intently trying to prove a point. He purposely ignored him until a slice of dry toast was pushed in front of him.

"Eat something! You used to have all sorts in the morning, now you just have that single cup of black coffee! You're starting to look like a human twig!"

"I'm not hungry. I never am at breakfast." _Or at lunch...or tea _he added silently, draining the cheap, white cup and trying to ignore the familiar hunger twinge in his stomach. His friend sighed, but smiled reassuringly as Vince took a bite of the bread and collected his stuff up, making his way through the door, and into the cold, dull winter air. Checking nobody was stood at the windows or looking, he shoved the rest of the slice into a hedge and wrapped the mouthful in a tissue, and upon seeing no litter bin, shoved it in his jacket pocket. And old woman walking her dog gave him a disdainful sniff. He scowled, adjusting the sleeves, wincing as the fabric grazed across the aforementioned burn, reading the times on the bus stop. Probably already missed the first one, so he'd have to wait for the next one, which was another half an hour away.

But it was all so easy to cover up; in public at least. Smiling and laughing and brushing off comments. If anyone outside home found out about him; freaky obsessions and appearance hang ups, he may as well go die. Or hideaway forever, like a hermit. The bus pulled in, all its suited up commuters staring as Vince boarded, some smirking to one another.

**Right that's it. Should I continue it? Should I not? Well, obviously if I did carry it on, it wouldn't all be like this, but...meh, you get the idea. Reviews make me smile and give chocolates. **


	2. Chapter 2

Work was a bore for almost everyone in the warehouse, though for Vince it was more so than others, with sniggering and jeering. Not to mention all the other stuff. The immaculately dressed receptionist smirked at him as her entered the foyer.

"You're late for the fourth time this week, Vince." She said curtly, handing over the sign-in book. Another smirk. Her teenage daughter rolled her eyes sympathetically in the background, balancing a baby on her hip, as it grizzled in defiance.

"Sorry. It was the bus." He mumbled, returning the pen and paper.

"It always the bus, Vince. If you're late again, I'm reporting you to the manager. I know what your type are like, lollygagging along." She eyed him up and down critically.

"Mum!" hissed the girl, looking severely embarrassed, laying the child down in a small cot. "Quit being such a bitch to everyone!"

"I beg your pardon?!" Replied her mother, outraged that her daughter had dared to answer back.

"You heard. I'm fed up of you slagging off me and my mates!"

"Well, you will insist on wearing all these mismatched clothes! Hang on…you mean to tell me your friends with…_him_?"

"Yeah, I talk to him at lunch, on the internet sometimes. So what?"

"You _know what_. How could you betray me like this, mind, you already have, going out and having _that_!" She gestured wildly to the newborn and sighed dramatically.

"What the hell do you mean betray? I don't want to grow up like you! You're tweedy and stuck up and nasty to everyone you meet!"

"Excuse me, Magda!? I meant betray by having this little bundle of joy when you are only 19! Do you know how ashamed I am?"

Vince turned his back on the increasingly loud scene and turned down the corridor to the staffroom; although "staffroom" seemed a strange terminology for something that was no more that a damp, bare room with a few chairs and some battered freestanding lockers that were about as strong as Paris Hiltons IQ, which is not very little at all considering the evidence. Anyway...

Sat in one of the bare corners was a small group of what could typically be described as blokey-blokes. Conversation dying down as he locked his things in for the day, friendly banter replaced by quiet, whispered jeering. Someone in particular shouted.

"Oi, look who it isn't!" The rest of the group collapsed into giggles. Slapping the person next to them on the back, as if congratulating one another.

"Whas' he wearing?"

"Bloody hell, I wouldn't be seen dead like that!"

Vince dug his nails into his palm and hid his tears behind his hair as he exited, trying to regain some form of composure before going through the daily chores of checking stock, serving blatantly rude and dull customers, then going home, hopefully before it got to dark and hopefully before everyone else.

Naff Christmas cards were pinned to the cork board next to the till, and through the window, a few factory girls on their way to work wore tinsel garlands round their hips or heads. Why were they all so cheerful? Christmas was just another season.

Suddenly, a thought struck him.

_I can't go on like this..._


	3. Chapter 3

**Right, sorry for the wait everyone. I've re-written this about 3 times. So. Here you go. Naff intro, but ah well.**

"You have no idea what's going on! You're way too busy flouncing off with Melinda, Naboo's not even in, and Bollo's always out there somewhere!"

Arguments bounced off the walls, seemingly amplifying the tense atmosphere in the cramped kitchen.

"God, shut up! You haven't even been in from 'work' for ten minutes and already you're making a scene. Quick everyone, all eyes on Vince, because incase you haven't noticed, somebody forgot to listen to him whinge, for a split second! It's even worse than them kittens you insisted on bringing home, who indulge in destructive behaviour if you ignore them for a-Gah! They're still doing it now!"

The smaller of the aforementioned animals looked up guiltily from trying to knock the salt and pepper pots from the table, then continued with an air of extreme smugness.

"Shut up! I got them for company! It's hardly their fault anyway…and why the hell am I talking about some cats when I'm meant to be arguing?"

"Well, you hardly need company! You're always with some common tart! You just can't stand that someone else other than you is happy, and the attention isn't solely on Vince! Just get lost. Some of us have more important stuff to worry about than whether our hair looks good! Quit trying to destroy other people's lives!"

"No chance of a quiet night in then!" Shouted the resident of the flat below, clearly irate that somebody was arguing. _Again._

Howard grabbed his coat

"I'm going out, leaving you and your…problems here. You need mental help!"

"Why do you _always_ have to be so bloody articulate when you argue?!"

"Fine then. Vince, fuck off!"

The door slammed, with some finality, but had to be opened again after Howard caught his coat sleeve in it. This would usually have been funny, but, given the current situation, it was acutely embarrassing.

He collapsed on the sofa, feeling drained. The TV still buzzed away to itself, and the rained hailed against the window. It was almost creepy how the weather could mirror your feelings…

Thoughts whirled round his head.

_You're always with some common tart…_

_You need mental help..._

_Quit trying to destroy other people's lives!_

Maybe Howard, and, apparently the rest of the world, were right…it certainly felt that way. He was at home, on a Thursday night, staring at a wall and crying silently, all because a few people didn't like him. _Pathetic. _

Almost in a trance like state, he walked to the fridge, pulled out a cold bottle of something alcoholic. It was blue in colour, which was slightly off-putting. Months ago, he would have been getting pissed and actually being happy, but now…

He sipped thoughtfully. It tasted disgusting, but suddenly, everything fell into place.

Nobody was in, or would be for the next 5 hours at least…

With some minor precautions it would be easy.

No one would miss him.

Vince Noir was going to die.

**Please Review!**

**screams and legs it**


	4. Chapter 4

Vince had quite possibly downed more alcohol in the last hour than he had the entire week previously. It wasn't even nice stuff, but old, cheap bottles of vodka and wine that had been given as last minute Christmas presents, because, really, nothing says 'I have no idea what to get you' quite like bargain bin booze, or huge beige bath towels for that matter..

The TV was buzzing to itself monotonously; sleet fell miserably against the windows as he stood. The room span sickeningly. He wondered whether he should take in specific details, if this was the last time he'd ever see the room, but then again, what use would a memory of the awful carpet be when dead?

_Dead_. It sounded so real. Too real. So this was what it was like, knowing death was imminent. A strangely calm experience, almost as if thinking an everyday, mundane though, such as considering putting the kettle on, or catching a bus.

Vince switched the TV off shakily and tidied the room a bit, stacking the glasses neatly in the sink. _There. _It looked almost untouched. Eerily quiet. It felt strange…and scary to be plotting your own demise, almost like calculating the blueprint for a crime or something. And it was only 23.01.

He hesitated for a few seconds next to the medical cupboard, before selecting a few boxes of paracetamol and aspirin. Another bottle of alcohol from the fridge, before taking a last look at the room and trudging up the stairs.

He was completely pissed. Had to be, or he'd probably be doing something equally pathetic like crying by now. But he wasn't. He felt nothing. Bone clean, like a scraped out shell.

Vince walked into his bedroom and shut the door, shoving the bedside table in front of it and wedging a chair under the handle. He checked it. No possible chance anyone could get in. They'd think it was normal. After arguments he always holed himself up in his room. It'd just be Vince being mardy, yet again. He walked round the room once. Everything was straight and in its place.

There was no turning back now.

Howard and Melinda stumbled in the door at gone one in the morning. The house was completely empty. And quiet. This would have been strange, if he hadn't been drinking like a fish that evening. Melinda tripped over the cat, and they were both laughing uncontrollably again as they made their way up the stairs.

He paused outside Vince's room.

"Vince?" More giggling.

No answer.

"Are you in there?" He tried the handle. Barricaded.

"Howard…come on…" She tugged his hand, giggling.

_Fine then. Sulk. See if I care. _He thought, shuffling past the door….

**Please review!**

**Don't hate me!**


	5. Chapter 5

White sheets, white walls and annoyingly _clean_ white, starched pillows indicated that Vince Noir had failed in his suicide attempt. And this, if possible, made him feel even more pathetic. There are bruises on his arms that he doesn't remember getting and some kind of tube down his throat that makes swallowing acutely painful. Several needles were stabbed into his arm and the back of his hand.

Beyond the patterned curtain and erratic, fast-paced beep of the heart monitor, the loud hubbub of the hospital clouded his thoughts; or that could just be the painkillers. Or maybe even the after effects of trying to die. Either way, it hurt a great deal, not just physically either…

The clock on the wall read 11:05. Whether it was day or night remained elusive. He could barely keep his eyes open. Pain in his stomach made patches of light bloom behind his eyelids.

He was about to drift off into a restless sleep when the curtain ruffled, followed by the efficient step of a man in an expensive cut suit and white coat. A consultant, or maybe even a doctor. He was followed in be roughly a dozen medical students, all clutching clipboards and looking nervously around them, like a warped scene of Scrubs, minus the humour.

"Doctor Anderson, head consultant here at St Thomas' Hospital." He smiled, in a fake, professional manner, and picked up a clipboard, languidly recording a few new notes from the various monitors, then turning to the students behind him who startled and shuffled back slightly. "Vince Noir, suicide attempt, no history of depression." Dr Anderson drawled, watching everyone scathingly as they scribbled down notes. "Pulse rate remains fast though regular, though patient was in an almost comatose state when admitted at 5am this morning." He turned to Vince. "So, how are you feeling?" The statement ended with another ludicrously false smile. Was he really expecting an answer?

"In pain.." he managed to croak out, before another wave of nausea hit him.

"Yes well, that's to be expected. You should have thought of that before ODing!"

He turned again to his subjects, beckoning them closer with a snooty wave of his arm.

"Now, as you know, the case is often the same with these types. Although not afore mentioned on their medical records, they often suffer some form of mental illness and subsequent-

"I'm not mad." Coughed Vince from between the stiff covers.

He was ignored.

"I'm not mad." He said again, louder. The doctor swivelled on the balls of his feet to face him, anger flashing in his eyes, quickly replaced by a neutral mask.

"Well I don't think you are in a position to judge that Mr…Noir." One of the pupils behind him snorted. "People who attempt suicide, no matter what their verdict are often confused, and quite often messed up people, though I am speaking strictly off the books."

With that, he pushed aside the curtain once more, and left, leaving Vince to wallow in his misery once more…

**Okay. Please don't hate me!**

**And please review! **


	6. Chapter 6

Going back home was possibly one of the strangest experiences Vince had ever had. He didn't expect to be seeing anything again…let alone this place. It stunk of last night's food and damp washing and barely-there dust, but somehow, it was comforting. So much more so than the hospital anyway, with its disinfectant, vomit and recycled air.

He noticed things that would have usually bored him. The pots hadn't been done since he left, the last glass still shining dully, and the bin almost overflowing with takeaway cartons.

Naboo cleared his throat awkwardly behind him as he puts the two overnight bags down and smiles. Barely. His mind is clearly elsewhere though, and the air seems to be thick with embarrassment. The bright paint of the hallway, mocking. Vince kicks the bags until they are next to the coat hook and shuffles up the stairs, wondering who found him, and why they didn't leave him there in the first place. Howard is at work, and Naboo should be really, but there's a horrible feeling that _somebody _told _someone _not to leave him alone. The stuff Howard said to him on that night seems distant and he doesn't feel anything other than numbness. And exhaustion. So the only thing is to sleep, because by the looks of things, conversation is sparse, and it's the only way to block out the memories, and the horrible quilt and ceiling that are a bloody painful reminder…

Howard arrives home not long after five, along with Corrine who caught a lift on the bus. She hasn't seen Naboo for a week, and is the only one outside the flat to know about what happened. Vince was, at present asleep, although Howard keeps sneaking up to check on him in a slightly obsessive way.

"So how's he been?" Howard asks. He the first to speak, other than Bollo, who has been nosily making the cups of herbal tea and coffee to compensate for the awkward peace.

Naboo looks up from his contented seat on the sofa. He sighs.

"He's slept all day and hasn't spoken much." Everyone looks uneasy all of a sudden. Even the cats are subdued and have taken to cowering away under the bookcase, only skulking out to eat. Bollo hands round the drinks and sets about ordering another takeaway meal, even though most of it is not eaten.

"Why didn't we notice?" Naboo says suddenly half way through The Friday Night Project, which nobody is watching, but its switched on anyway, mainly to keep everybody company. Offer distraction. It's clearly not working. "I mean he wasn't eating as much. He always slouched of to work. He was moody. The signs were there...why didn't we see them?"

"I thought he was getting better." Says Howard, putting his cup down on the table.

"Yeah, well he wasn't was he?" Naboo looks upset and bitter, so Corrine snuggle closer to him. It seems to work, as he calms a little, but the words linger like a stale odour in the air.

Vince has been sat on the stairs for the last ten minutes listening to what people have been saying. Its like he's an outsider, listening in to a conversation. Earwigging. He debates in his mind whether or not because they are talking about him, it's his right to listen, but it all boils down to the same thing. He's not _meant _to be hearing it. He's meant to be asleep. _Recovering. _

As if.

**Right. That's it. I know I haven't updated for ages, and I'm really sorry, but, I've started my final exam studies, and I was ill and there was a really embarrassing something I said coughnobbocough that I haven't been able to like down, okay?**

**Please review! **

**xx**


	7. Chapter 7

By now, it was just two days before Christmas, and the pine tree had begun dropping its needles already. Bollo wanted to take it back to the shop in sheer fury, as the pushy sales assistant did say it still had at least two weeks life left in it, but eventually settled for burning it in the cramped front garden and getting a 2-foot-tall neon one out of the loft. It was also just two weeks since the "incident" with Vince, who, quite thankfully appeared to be getting better, had quit his job, though with no companies hiring just before Christmas, resorted to cleaning the house, and doing the weekly shop online, even if the bill did come to double what it usually would.

Everyone was happy. Things were finally getting back to normal.

Meanwhile, Howard's relationship with Melinda (who had since stated she wished to be called Mel) was blossoming, and the day was rare when he came in from work not grinning to himself.

Even Naboo was happier, looking forward to spending Christmas alone with his girlfriend in a hut overlooking the lake, which was frozen, and where the sunsets were said to be breathtaking. He still had some prickling doubt though, about something he couldn't quite put his finger on, so he blamed it on the Board of Shaman's annual gathering the following day.

This was of course viewed through the rose-tinted glasses of anyone but Vince, who truth be told, was still as miserable as ever, just hiding it better. He had told Howard otherwise though.

"_I'm sorry I was such a prat the other week…I was pissed. I didn't like work. It seemed a good idea at the time, and I was angry, y'know? But I'm better now. I promise." _

_Howard looked a little choked up. _

"_I'm sorry too, for what I said. I didn't mean that either." He smiled genuinely. Vince did too, faking it. The small space in the kitchen was awkward. Cramped. Something solved with the proposition of a cuppa and chocolate wafer straw. _

This didn't stop Howard hiding all the knives and sharp objects out of the kitchen, but still. It was a start. Although it would be ages until he'd be left in the house alone. Or, at least that's what he thought, right until Naboo shuffled into his room looking a bit sheepish. Everyone else was at work, and Bollo, ever the optimist had decided to do a gig in the town centre to raise funds for a replacement tree, due to the presents almost enclosing the current version completely.

"Hiya. What's up? You look a bit…worried." He said, getting off the bed and smoothing his hair slightly in the mirror.

"Yeah…I know. Well. It's about Corrine's present. I kind of…broke it." Naboo winced and sighed, putting the wrapping paper down. Vince looked slightly puzzled at what he could do about the situation, but smiled slightly. "And. Yeah. I was wondering, would you be alright, y'know, on your own, if I just nip down to the craft market for half an hour? An hour tops? Cos I leave tomor-"

"It'll be fine, don't worry. I'm getting better, remember?" Vince said the words fluently, as if they'd been rehearsed. They had. Naboo looked really grateful.

"You won't try anything stupid will you?"

"'Course not!" Another grin.

"Ah, thanks a lot! Right...I'm off...Otherwise it'll shut…"

Within fifteen minutes, the front door slammed, and after a through search of the house, not a single blade or even a bottle opener could be found, meaning he had to have tap water. It tasted metallic, but it was probably for the best anyway. He was getting fat, despite Howard's attempts to 'feed him up'.

Curiously, he picked up the gift-wrapped box and lifted the paper carefully. The tag lolled out.

"_Exotic Glassware from..." _

The latter half was torn, but that didn't matter. Inside the box, the serrated shards of glass jingled merrily…

**Don't hurt me!!**

**And please review ;)**


	8. Chapter 8

"Why did you leave him alone though? I though you…we discussed it! And how c-" The conversation broke off abruptly as Vince sauntered into the kitchen, looking unusually relaxed. Naboo and Howard assumed guilty expressions. Vince calmly began to make some coffee, black as usual. He's wearing his usual jeans and t-shirt, although long sleeved which is something of a rarity, although to be fair, it is winter.

"So…how are you?" Howard asks. Stupid question. He doesn't expect an answer, and is surprised when there is one. Naboo takes this as his queue to exit, and after picking up a newly wrapped present.

"I'm good. I'm gonna go and get some sleep. I was up till late last night watching The Moomins." He smiles genuinely. At least, it looks genuine. Picking up the coffee and an apple from the counter, he heads upstairs. Howard waits until he hears the bedroom door click, then relaxes and sets about preparing vegetables for the next days' festivities.

Vince pauses for a while until he hears definite activity from downstairs, meaning he won't be disturbed. He goes into his own room briefly, only to collect the bit of glass from the underside of the small dressing table, before opening the loft hatch and climbing up the slim rope ladder, and into the dark atmosphere above.

Flicking on the light, he surveyed it with a sense of dim satisfaction. Nobody knew he came up here. Although the loft hatch opened up on the landing, it was actually situated over Naboo's room, and he half expected the shaman's senses to pick him up and the plan would be foiled, but so far, all was safe.

The attic itself was very small, and was littered with many old dusty boxes. Some of them had not been opened since they moved in some three years ago. One corner however, was pristine, and had a thick duvet on the floor. There was a box of tissues on a ledge, as well as various photos pinned into the rafters. He sets his things down on a clean piece of the tissue, not wanting them to get dirty.

Something tells him he needn't rush today, although he doesn't want to spend more than half an hour up there. It's his place, and nobody must find out about it, ever.

Vince nibbles the apple delicately, soothing considerably, and drinking in the scenes depicted on the photographs.

There is one of him in school, surrounded by his friends, doing a Beatles tribute act for a junior talent contest, but it is faded and crumbling around the edges. One of the house before is was decorated – a mess of William Morris wall paper and mouldy plaster, then, finally, an ancient snapshot of what appears to be an Indian wedding. A very beautiful woman wearing a sari is accompanied by a traditionally dressed groom. Vince often entertains the idea he looks a little like Naboo. Having finished his meal he sits back against the small cushion behind him, and almost feels happy. But it isn't good happy…it's warped and twisted and dark, but it feels incredible whilst it lasts.

His next move is quite sudden, and almost trance like, but then again he hasn't felt lucid in quite a while.

Picking the glass up, he nudges the sleeve aside, and slices it across the inside of his arm. The blood wells up in the neat cut line, before overflowing and pooling down and dripping onto the duvet. He should have put some of the tissues down or something. _Stupid_. He cuts again twice more. The pain is incredible, yet is a blissful distraction. He wipes the worst of the blood from his arm and pulls down the sleeve, ignoring the stinging throb of the recent wounds. He's been crying without knowing it. He resents realising this, rolls up the quilt, turns off the light and heads to his room.

It sounds like Bollo and Howard are talking in the kitchen. They sound happy enough. How can they be so happy when he feels so fucking alone?

**Please review or I won't update! ;)**


	9. Chapter 9

**Dedicated to my lovely friend Laura. Don't listen to Mark. You are lovely just the way you are.**

Christmas always rolls round too fast. Some people find they are short on presents, some people panic anyway, because there's second cousin thrice removed is coming to stay, and some people, such as Vince Noir loathe Christmas, because they find it completely and utterly pointless. That coupled with the prospect of having to scarf down an entire seasonal dinner and pudding.

Still. At least Naboo was gone, off to a hut in the hills or something. He'd been 'discretely' observing Vince for ages, even though the man in question was fully aware of being watched, which kinda defeated the object, but still…at least he was the first on up, on Christmas day. Even though it was 5am, and Melinda threw a slipper at him when he went into her and Howard's room to check nobody was awake, but actually found himself interrupting something. He shuddered, and wrapped the dressing gown tighter and looked out the kitchen window at the snow pelting against it. One of the cats was sat on the ledge mewling to get in. It could wait. There were plenty of places it could shelter out there anyway.

The scabs on Vince's arms itched, although he didn't scratch them, despite how irritating they were. He didn't particularly want to bleed. Yet. Besides, there was plenty of time if he actually did feel the need to. It was another 3 hours or so before even Bollo's alarm was set, and someone had foolishly left a razor on the side of the bath the other week, because the piece of glass had long since shattered.

In the meantime however, he busied himself with watching a bit of telly. The news was just starting, with its presenters wearing alarming festive hats, and pulling crackers, and generally being annoyingly jolly, although that was probably down to illegal amounts of caffeine.

Melinda and Howard were both now awake, no longer in 'The Mood', and both feeling disgruntled. They leant against each other in silence, not really knowing what to say, other than "Well. That was unfortunate." and "I hope I can find that slipper tomorrow. Or later today, even.". Howard eventually settled for saying something else entirely, which given the current state of things, was probably not his best move.

"I'm still worried about Vince." He knew his voice sounded strained. Melinda sighed angrily, and turned her back.

"Not this. Again." She whined, scrambling out of bed and flinging open the window. Cold air rushed in, bringing a torrent of snow with it, that had displaced from the top of the window frame. "Argh, for fuck's sake!" She slammed her elbows down and the sill and exasperatedly lit up a cigarette, although her struggle to lean out of the window to get a nicotine fix was in vain, as the smoke blew back into the room with the draught anyway. "The doctor discharged him, he seems happy enough. It's only that bastard Naboo who's made you doubt him. Or you. Bloody hell, you've got me confused now!"

"Hey, don't say that about Naboo!" He sighed, and wrapped an arm around her waist. The acrid smell of the smoke drifted in, hanging in the air for a while before disappearing completely.

"Sorry, but he is. There's only him worried about Vince in the whole house!" She paused for another drag. "I don't want him worrying you. You're no good when your fretting about...Well...Anything really." She smirked and pecked him on the cheek before tossing the butt into the garden below and sidling back to bed, dusting the ash from her silky negligee.

"I suppose your right." Howard sighed, closed the window and dithered for a moment, then returned to bed as well. "I'm gonna get some sleep, okay? The turkey needs to go in the oven in two hours." He pecked her on the lips, then tried to get back to sleep.

Downstairs, blood dripped steadily into the kitchen sink…

**Don't hurt me! **

**Oh yeah..and please review ;) **


	10. Chapter 10

**Right, sorry this took so long. There's been stuff going on. **

**Thanks to Corrine for putting up with all my snippets, and general being-a-pratness!  
Also…well done Laura. Put that bstard of a bloke behind you! **

Vince must have foolishly fallen asleep, and wakes up, slumped painfully on the sofa. Someone else is in the room, and is clattering around in what he imagines is a Howard-fashion, but when he opens his eyes, it is merely Melinda, putting the kettle on and looking at him through bleary eyes. Her fair hair is a tangled mess. He quickly rolls down his sleeve, and checks the presence of the blade in his pocket, before relaxing slightly. She smiles at him brightly, as she exits the kitchen in such skimpy underwear, it wouldn't look out of place on a hooker.

For the first time in years, it is snowing on Christmas day. Not fine snow either, as it is falling in huge flakes that don't look that delicate at all. The view through the front window is of a blank white garden, a slushy road, and Mrs Pankhurst, the mad old lady who lives below them; clearing the path in rainbow leg warmers, and leading her snow shovel in a tango. She waves with an air of insanity, then continues to make a prat of herself. Vince considers waving back, but then realises that she is blind as a bat.

The TV now sports a bleak kids cartoon about why children shouldn't play on railway lines, which is seemingly near its end, as a boy called William runs onto the track and is mowed down by a blue steam engine that might have been Thomas the Tank Engine. As the titles fade, the channels presenter (in full reindeer outfit) wishes viewers a merry Christmas, for what seems to be the 100th time since the channel came on earlier that morning.

Multiple dull thuds on the stairs indicate that Howard and Bollo are now on their way down, so Vince casually wanders into the kitchen and drops three slices of bread in the toaster, otherwise Howard will only nag him to attempt breakfast.

"Morning." Grunts Bollo, shuffling into the lounge, flopping into the armchair and switching the telly to GMTV. Howard follows, fully dressed and adjusting his tie.

"Merry Christmas Vince!" He practically shouts, suspiciously jolly, then more miffed "Why aren't you dressed?" Vince butters a slice of toast and gingerly takes a bite.

"S'only ten in the morning! Don't need to get dressed until dinners ready." He yawns to emphasize the point.

"Yeah, but my mums coming at twelve, and I want everything nice…Mel's getting ready now…" He trails off, smiling slightly.

"She won't be out for ages though. If you sort the food I'll be ready for whenever."

Howard was still off in his own little world.

Bollo, in the mean time had brought down his tie collection, and was debating over whether to wear a lurid rainbow one with psychotic looking reindeers on it, or its equally disturbing counterpart, which depicted a chainsaw wielding Santa Claus, with the caption 'I know where you live'.

When Melinda had finally finished in the bathroom, it was just gone 11:30, and the place was littered unhelpfully with various bottles. There was red nail varnish smeared on the edge of the sink, and the mirror was misted up. Vince wondered what to do. His hair looked passable, which was a change. He'd have to change though, as boxers and a dressing gown didn't really make ideal dining wear. After applying the usual eyeliner he slunk into the bedroom, pulling open the wardrobe that was covered with so many cutting and pictures it barely looked like a piece of furniture.

Peeling of the bath robe stung, as the blood had dried onto the fabric. There were more cuts now, 4 on the left arm and 6 on the right. Vince didn't even flinch looking at them now. They were normal. Probably. Pulling on some dark jeans and a black long-sleeve tee, he finally headed downstairs, just as the door bell rang.

Howard sprinted towards it, balancing a saucepan of sprouts in one hand unlocking the door with the other. An old lady on the other side looked positively alarmed, the squealed, and ran to greet her son.

"Howard! My how you've grown dear! Look, I've got you your presents? Have you opened any yet, you know how we always used to wait until after lunch to open them, I hope your carrying on tradition! Is that turkey I smell? You have done me proud!" She hugged him again, adjusting her glasses, and smoothing her permed white hair before turning to Vince, who had stood a little bewildered at the bottom of the stairs.

You must be…lets see…Vincent! Yes, hello! Howard tells me lots about you, y'know." She beamed and rummaged around in her carpet bag before pulling out a colourfully wrapped parcel. "This is for you. It's only a little something, but Howwie didn't get me the train tickets until last week!" A cry of outrage sounded from the kitchen.

"Mum! Don't call me Howwie! You stopped that when I was five!" The smell of food wafted from the kitchen, making Vince's mouth water traitorously.

"Cheers!" Said Vince, taking the gift, just as Melinda wandered into the room, looking nothing short of spectacular. Her fair hair was worn up in a loose knot, secured with a select clip, and she was wearing a flowing turquoise dress that cut off just below the knee. Howard's present, a delicate silvery chain strung with small crystals hung around her slender neck. She smiled demurely at Mrs Moon, and kissed her on both cheeks.

"Hello, Mrs Moon, pleasure to meet you." She said, sounding a little too enthusiastic.

"Please, call me Nora!" She laughed, hanging up her coat and following Melinda into the lounge, which had scrubbed up surprisingly well. "Well, aren't you a picture. Howard seems smitten with you from what he says." She smiles nostalgically, then wanders into the kitchen. The smile immediately leaves Melinda's face, and she rolls her eyes in Vince's direction, sighing, whilst Bollo has been apprehended and is enduring the same greeting and hugs forced upon him, though he looks a little surprised to find himself being embraced by an old lady.

Howard, who has been juggling various pots and trays, as well as warming some plates in the oven, looks nothing short of flustered, when his Mum begins to enquire as to where Naboo and his lovely girlfriend were, because she'd apparently heard loads about them as well.

When everybody finally sits down to dinner, which is a mountainous affair of turkey, peas, carrots, parsnips, stuffing, nut roast, cranberry jelly and copious amounts of gravy, its is gone four in the afternoon, but Nora has still not stopped talking, and was in the middle of telling how, when she was younger, they had to kill, pluck, cook and eat a turkey all on the same day.

"Oh just look at me, prattling on when we're meant to be eating! Howard, you've done me proud! Your father would be so pleased for you, and Mel, god rest him." She dabbed at her eyes, and then dug into the meal heartily.

Vince felt cornered. Everyone else was eating. _Scoffing. _It would only be so long befor-

"Vince dear, get eating. You're all skin and bone! Howard's so worrie-"  
"Mum!" Howard spluttered.  
"Sorry…I'd better explain. Howard's been telling me about your...problems. I sympathize, you know." She smiled, meaning well. Melinda looked up, nonplussed, fixing Howard with a cold gaze. Vince glared with equal venom. He politely excused himself and strode into the kitchen, feeling strangely betrayed. There was no sign of anyone following him. _Good. _In the midst of Christmas day stress, the knives had been forgetfully left in the drawer. Picking one up, Vince had already rolled up one of his sleeves when the door creaked open.

"Vince..." Howard's voice was weak. "What the fuck are you doing?"

**DUNDUNDURRRRRN!  
Please review :P **


	11. Chapter 11

Vince froze, much like a rabbit in the headlights. Friendly banter and the smell of turkey drifted in from the dining room. He dropped the unused knife in the sink, wincing as it clattered to a halt. Howard swallowed audibly.

"Vince. Just…what have you been doing?" He shrugged in reply, looking strangely distant, eyes darting around the kitchen. "You-you've don't this before haven't you. Show me your wrists."

"No!"

"Just do it!"

"Its none of your business!" He tried to dart past, making a dash for the stairs, but slipped on a ridiculous Christmas decoration and ended up grappling at the countertop pathetically. The shirt sleeve had ridden up in the process revealing a painfully thin arm littered with cuts.

"Oh god." Howard had gone a few shades paler, and could feel his meal shifting uncomfortably in his stomach. "You said you were better. You said you were okay." Vince face contorted in anguish.

"Yeah, well I am to me. Its none of your business anyway, is it!?" He spat, tugging the sleeve back down and pacing a little, before leaning against the wall, glaring.

"None of my bloody business? Vince, you're my friend, of course its my business! I want you to recover. I'll help you!"

"I don't need you help!" He snarled, successfully barging past him friend and stalking up the stairs. Howard perused, suddenly worried about what was going to happen next. The bathroom door slammed shut before he could get in.

"Vince!" He hammered on the door, "Vince get out here now! I'm worried about you, your reckless, you're gonna do something stupid, please just open the door!"

"I'm not thick, and aren't I allowed to have a shower anymore?!" Howard guessed the question was rhetorical, but still dithered on the other side of the door, barely relaxing when the shower patters to life and the smell of whatever expensive conditioner marked with a post-it note reading "KEEP OFF" is currently in use. With classic timing, a shadow cast down the narrow hallway, and Melinda sidled up beside him.

"Come downstairs." She purred tugging on his hand.

"No!" He said, shrugging her off, still trying to listen through the door.

"So you'd rather stay upstairs, eh?" Somehow, she had managed to shimmy between him and the door, and was trying to look as seductive as possible, subtly moving in the direction of the bedroom.

"Mel, we can't!" He whispered after her. She had already began to undo her hair, and it now tumbled down her back in loose curls. "My-erm..my mums downstairs."

"Then why are you listening to him in the shower?"

"Erm..well.." Melinda sighed and readjusted her dress.

"Come on…lets go _downstairs_ then. Your mum's finished her dinner and is lecturing us all on chavs that come to her door with ski masks on to sing Christmas carols."  
"What?!"

"Look, never mind, just hurry up. And get away from the bathroom, the blokes only having a shower! Think of the rest of us downstairs!"  
"Well…Mel, actually. Um. I think he's ill. I need to do something so could you go and keep everyone happy down there? Please?"

The woman in question glared intensely, then skulked away, leaving a small trail of hair accessories behind her.

As soon as she was gone, Howard went into his room and picked up his phone, scrolling down to the number tabbed as 'Naboo – Cabin' Maybe Naboo would know what to do, seen as Bollo was already blind drunk on his own unique cocktail, 'Eggnog Martinis'.

The phone seemed to be ringing forever, before Corrine answered the phone. Soothing music was playing in the background and Howard could almost smell the incense.  
"Hello?" Asked the voice again, as he had unwittingly begun to daydream.

"Oh hiya! Sorry, um, its only a quick call, but could I possibly have a speedy word with Naboo?"  
"Yeah, sure, I'll just get him for you. He...might take a minute though!" The phone was put down, and the volume of the music lowered slightly. Downstairs however, loud, karaoke music thumped through the floor.

"Howard you nob, what d'you want? I told you I didn't want disturbing!" Naboo sounded mildly irritated.

"Yeah. Naboo. I need you to help me. Its about Vince…"

Back in the bathroom, Vince was getting dressed again, leaving a pile of slightly bloodied towels by the wash basket. What little amount he'd eaten was now splattered down the toilet bowl.

It was over, because everybody knew.

**Please review!**

// Screams and legs it //


	12. Chapter 12

The bus was empty save for a single elderly lady who sat talking to the driver. Vince examined his ticket critically. '215A Camden Market via South London General'. Howard and Naboo sat on the row in front, trying to smile reassuringly, but only succeeding in appearing a little threatening. The vehicle hissed and creaked as it turned a corner.

"She's alright y'know. I used to know her. Well. Saboo still does, cos she's got a sideline selling magical supplies." Said Naboo, who was scowling slightly, as though struggling to remember something. Vince, however, stayed silent, and slumped with his head lolled against the window listlessly.

"It'll be alright. You need to get better." Howard sighed, glancing out the window to see where they were. "You'll see it's for the best, eventually."

The corridors so strongly of disinfectant, it was a wonder the patients did not get high on the stuff Vince thought, eyeing a suspiciously happy pair of hedgehogs frolicking on the painted wall. Even though Naboo and Howard had told him the directions what seemed like hundreds of times, he was hopelessly lost, and stood outside the children's ward dithering.

The piece of paper tucked in his jean pocket simply read "Dr C Powell, Ward 15, Floor 5." Only a few workers were wandering about, one particular wheeling a tiny newborn past in an intensive care cot. He considered not going at all. The person, or therapist or whatever would probably be stuffy and over-analytical and a complete moron. Then again, if they knew Naboo, word would soon get around, and then he'd be in even more trouble, if that were possible.

After what seemed like hours, a kind looking nurse shuffled over, a clipboard tucked under her arm.

"Can I help you?" She said, stifling a yawn. "Sorry, I've been on call since three this morning…" He handed her the piece of paper, and tapped his foot anxiously. "Oh, I know who you want. Please, follow me." She sighed, and set off down the corridor, regulation sneakers squeaking efficiently.

After a few elaborate turns through the wards, the nurse departed, leaving him outside a plain, unlabeled wooden door. It wasn't exactly promising. He could imagine the inside, white-washed walls and typical furniture. Apprehension building, he knocked politely, and went in.

The large room, if it could be called that, was astounding, and a blatant rebellion against the rest of the building. Indian wall hangings in rainbows of different colours glittered, and huge pieces of equally bright silk were draped across the ceiling. A woman in a vibrant purple and gold sari walked towards him, long black hair rippling down her back. Only a small white ID card giving away her true status.

"Hello, you must be Vince Noir. I'm Dr Chandra Powell, senior psychologist here, although I know I look a little…unorthodox." Her accent lilted appropriately, though was not directly placeable to anywhere in particular. "Please, sit down" Chandra smiled warmly, and gestured to an old, squashy sofa, that although battered, looked inviting. Vince gladly seated himself, and wilted against the soft fabric. On the small coffee table, a single file was laid out, next to a terracotta tray that held fragrant, glowing embers. After shuffling though a few notes, she turned her strikingly beautiful face to him, looking concerned but empathetic.  
"I understand you have recently attempted suicide, and have since been self harming. Is this true?"  
"Mmmh." Vince looked at his feet, shuffling nervously. He looked _scared._   
"Then I am sorry to hear it….but surely there must be something that made you do this in the first place…? Don't worry; you don't have to talk about it yet. Just relax. We're going to help you."

**Gahhh. I know it's naff…..please review though? **


	13. Chapter 13

Vince stood outside the hospital, wondering whether to walk home. It wasn't that far, and the walk would at least, be some kind of exercise, seen as all Naboo and Howard had been cooking was fry-ups and chips, doing backstrokes in their own oil, saying he needed to "fatten up". As _if_.

The wind had picked up considerably and cut straight through his battered old jacket. It was still winter and he should have dressed a little more appropriately but appearance still remained a priority, despite how god-awful his reflection was. Besides, the walk back wasn't that far, maybe a few miles. Nobody would mind and it'd save the glares of the people on the bus. He started walking.

It was almost 2 months since he had actually been out, unaccompanied and actually on his own, almost missing the common sights of the less touristy side of London. A gaggle of nurses stood just outside the hospital gates shivering and smoking, ash soiling their neat blue uniforms. A drunken tramp was loitering in the gutter and a group of overly bright teenage girls shimmied past, still clinging to the Christmas vibes by wearing pieces of tinsel. It all made his 'problems' look tiny in comparison. People still carried on existing. Maybe it wasn't that important at all.

Vince fumbled in his pocket, plucking out the parchment-paper slip Dr Powell had given him, under strict instruction that he did not read it and give it straight to Naboo. It stunk of the small dried jasmine flowers glued to it and looked a little too informal to be professional in nature, but unable to resist curiosity, he unfurled it and ...found nothing but a blank sheet with a complex signature. It was probably a prescription of some kind, written in invisible ink, to make sure he didn't somehow get hold of the drugs and try to overdose. Again.

The strange thing was however, that he had left the hospital feeling strangely better, even though this time all the actual "therapy" consisted of was writing down his troubles on a piece of paper and setting it alight. There was a complex reason behind doing this, but Vince had not really been listening to it, and was instead wondering if one of the pieces of fabric on the wall could somehow be fashioned into a jacket. By now, he was almost back in Camden, the familiar smell of greasy food and popcorn and sweets drifting along with the bitter breeze, still repulsing him as much as ever. _Maybe a psychologist can't solve everything, no matter how unconventional they are._ Still. There's nothing wrong with watching what you eat...

The shops were now getting more familiar. Eliza, who owned the vast, technicolor belt stand waved at him distractedly, whilst jabbing her teenage daughter with a broom handle, and yelling at her in Russian to unpack stock quicker. Everything seemed to have changed in a few short weeks? Months?

Finally stopping at and small off-license, Vince stepped inside, fishing the crumbling fiver from his pocket and brushing the drizzle from his jacket. The elderly man behind the counter waved, even though he was blind, then went back to 'watching' the small portable television, where Bill Oddie, the well known human version of a small conifer, was rambling on about robins or whatever. He squatted down by the rows of neon alcohol in glistening, twisted bottles, eventually selecting one that proclaimed it was blueberry flavoured, although it looked closer to 'fluorescent marker pen'. Putting a fiver on the front desk, he edged around the huge Alsatian-come-draught excluder that had decided to make an appearance and stepped out into the street once more, where sleet had begun to fall steadily. Vince pulled his already sodden jacket around him and began to quickly walk back, not particularly wanting to get completely soaked. He was trying to think whether to plan a small party for new years eve, which was upon them once again, when his thoughts were interrupted by the arrogant trill of his mobile. The name flashed up on screen as "Howard – mobile". Probably checking up on him. He felt a sudden, unexplainable anger, and although was considering answering it anyway, it suddenly rang off.

"He's not answering!" Muttered Howard from the sofa, whilst Melinda curled next to him, idly flicking through the television channels. "Relax; he's probably shopping or something." She yawned, settling for Changing Rooms and falling back further into the cushions. "He was supposed to be back three hours ago! His session finished at eleven!" He exclaimed, standing up suddenly. Mel glared up at him heatedly. "It's only half eleven. It's not long past rush-hour and he's on a flaming bus. _Relax._" She sighed a little, then smiled, seemingly genuine. "Look, lets see what film and stuff are on. Its no use worrying about him, cos it wont make him come back any faster, and the last thing you want to do is suffocate him. I'll get the TV mag." She said calmly, leaning over the chair arm and grabbing the said item, and also quickly but efficiently unplugging the phone...

**Gah****, right.**** Sorry this took ages, but alas, ****i've**** had exams and coursework and then Christmas crept up on me. ****So yeah.****Please review!**


	14. Chapter 14

Vince stumbled along the murky street which he no longer knew the name of. He felt a little too nauseous and the neon signs of the fish and chip shop he faintly recognized blurred in front of him. Leaning against the wall of a blissfully dark alleyway, he tried to remember _how exactly_ he had got drunk. Vince hadn't intended to, and had actually bought the alcohol for New Years Eve, as the god-awful mulled wine Howard had taken a liking to was actually disgusting. Still. There remained the question of how to get home – not that he particularly wanted to, but after ringing the house phone several times only to find it engaged he had no choice. Somewhat desperately, he tried again, an intense feeling of dread clouding his mind as the street lamps began to flicker on.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Back at home, Howard was still more than a little worried, but for everyone else's sake, assumed his friend had gone shopping or something- rebelling in the wake of being forced into hospital. Mel, at least, was happy, and was currently snuggled against him, seemingly engrossed in The Railway Children. Bollo, meanwhile was trying to get through to Argos, after the keyboard he purchased on Boxing Day had no keys, and was stabbing at the number pad of the phone as a monotone, recorded voice told him "The choice you have made has not being recognized. Please try again." Meanwhile, Naboo was somewhere in his room "entertaining" Corrine, his girlfriend, but the fact the volume on Mr Benn was turned up to its maximum level was a bit suspicious. Howard shook himself distractedly. Why was he worrying? This kind of thing was typical Vince behaviour, and if he was acting more like his old self, it couldn't be a bad thing. The house was warm and contented. Everything was fine for once. Fingers crossed.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Meanwhile, somewhere a little closer to home, Vince had managed to hail a cab and somehow splutter out his address to the female cab driver who appeared to be dressed as a belly dancer, and was wearing a string of fairy lights. "Ahh, I know your type" She said, tapping the side of her nose. "Go out with your mates, get plastered early and get back, no?" Vince made a non-comitial noise, feeling quite sick. "I think it's only sensible, me. I mean, if you've gotta be up for work or some'ink then its better to get an early night, int' it?" Her tone was immensely annoying, but then again it was good she didn't expect a reply, as she was far too busy giving her life story. "I'm Janice by the way, who are you?" Vince gulped painfully and looked up, vision not entirely in focus. "M'Vince" "Hey up Vince! Now you're probably wondering why I'm dressed as a belly dancer. Well. It's a long story it is..." Vince decided to tune out, figuring that even if he actually told her to shut up, she would launch into an entirely different rant about why she was talking in the first place. At least she wasn't trying to perv on him though, like countless male cab drivers had done before. Howard was going to play hell with him – not to mention Naboo who didn't want to leave him alone anywhere, let alone out on his own. And he was rat-arsed. This wasn't going to go well.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Howard was, by now quite worried. Mel, ever the optimist had decided to fall asleep on the sofa, dismissing Vince as being nothing but "attention seeking" and kicking the cat off the upholstery so she could lay down properly. Pacing the room clearly not helping matters, he decided to go and see Naboo, who probably wouldn't be too happy about the disturbance, but desperate times... Striding somewhat purposefully to the silent bedroom door, he knocked once, and stood back politely. A shout of annoyance resounded from the room, before it was wrenched open a crack by the tiny shaman. "Howard!" Naboo hissed, wrapping a dressing gown around his otherwise naked self. "What do you want?" He stepped outside and carefully shut the door behind him. "Um, its Vince." He began. "Is he alright? What's wrong with him?""Well. He hasn't come in. We've tried to phone him, but it won't dial..." "What?!" Naboo shouted, talking as he descended the creaking stairs. "How many times have you tried? Have you tried texting? Why didn't you stay with him you ballbag!" He picked up the phone and pressed redial. Nothing happened. After pressing it multiple times – still nothing. Bending down, he shifted the magazines obscuring the sockets to reveal the landline was not plugged in, a telltale smudge of nail polish on the cable. _Melinda.__---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- _

_ "_Like I said...Vince was it? I like you, so I'll let you off. But if I see you again, I want my fare!" Janice seemed annoyed, but slightly amused. Vince failed to see the funny side and stumbled out of the car and onto the marred grass verge. "Give me a call, yeah?" She handed him a scrap of paper, and drove off into the night, leaving only a trail of choking exhaust fumes behind her. He opened the creaky gate and tripped up the path, standing before the door with a somewhat ominous feeling. Inside, shouts were echoing off the walls, and the voices were worryingly familiar. Jamming the key into the lock, the door swung open to reveal hell.

Melinda was stood, pulling a jacket on whilst screeching at Howard and Naboo who were yelling at her, and dodging the random items she attempted to throw. "Why the hell did you unplug it?" "Oh come on, he's always getting in the way! You lot mollycoddle him! He needs room to breathe...mind you, he wouldn't have been breathing altogether if... " Howard had slapped her, hard across the face, ending her sneered outburst prematurely. Corrine meanwhile had repacked her rucksack and was saying a hasty goodbye to Naboo, figuring it was not best to stick around. On her way out, she brushed past Vince who was leant against the doorway, as yet unseen. Smiling sympathetically, she headed out, closing the door behind her.With the door shut, the shouting seemed to intensify. "Howard, leave it! She's not worth it!""Not worth it? I'm worth ten of the lot of you! It's not ev- "Naboo, gerroff me! If she doesn't get out now, I'm not gonna be held responsible for her actions!" He turned to his former girlfriend, glaring intently. "Get out. Now." "As if I want to sti-" "Get out!" Howard screamed, tripping slightly over the rug as he lunged. "No." The voice was startlingly quiet amongst the shouting. Everyone turned to see Vince, stood slumped against the doorway, obviously drunk, although his words were lucid. "This is all your fault. Everything is your fault!" He went a shade paler – if possible and shuffled a little further into the lounge. He turned to one side and retched, emptying the contents of his stomach onto Melinda's suitcases, which had been thrown haphazardly onto the floor. "I hate you all." He muttered, before turning and running up the stairs.

**Yes, I'm evil, but, the bitch has gone! Whooo!****Please review?**


	15. Chapter 15

**Special thanks to Corrine for putting up with my inconsistent snippets and good luck to ****Kirstie****, who is trying to convince her mother not to get a Rottweiler, when they already have 2 kittens. ****Anyway...**

Vince found himself holed up in his room for what seemed like the hundredth time that week. Downstairs, after Melinda had finally vacated, everything was strangely quiet, and rather than go back down stairs, he decided to stay upstairs and pack.

There was too much going on to stay here. Too stressful and claustrophobic and awkward. He'd already texted some old friends from college, asking if he could crash there for a few days or weeks. Hadn't decided which yet.

Not waiting for a reply, he was already balancing on the old armchair, trying to knock the ancient suitcase off the top of the wardrobe, eventually giving up and yanking it off, so it toppled to the floor with a dull thud, the hundreds of peeling stickers rustling slightly.

Vince flung open the wardrobe, which was full of mainly t-shirts and the odd, somewhat misguided gift of a Christmas woolly jumper. He picked out a random armful of clothes and threw them on the bed, next to the case, before perching on the edge of the bed to examine them.

Half of them could instantly be ruled out – either too big or too small, and in one case, practically doll sized, after Howard had mistaken the purposely-there paint speckles on it for dirt, and put it on a boil wash, and tried to hide the evidence by dressing one of Naboo's voodoo dolls.

Another particular t-shirt he recoiled at – the black long sleeve number that smelt a bit off as it hadn't been washed since the first time he cut and hastily dragged it on over his still-bleeding arms.

A jacket near the top of the pile also joined the black shirt in the far corner of the room as it was size "L" and although from the women's section of Topshop, once again reminded him of how _fat_ he felt, even if everyone was trying to force food at him at every opportunity, even making the expression "Midnight Snack" a designated mealtime.

Somewhere beneath the clothes pile, his phone buzzed to itself. Paying no attention, he picked up a bundle and heaped it into the suitcase, not particularly caring if they creased or not.

Taking out a sketch pad from under his wardrobe, Vince picked up a pencil and hastily scrawled down a note.

_To Howard, Naboo and Bollo (when he gets back from Tesco's)_

_I'm going to stay at __Jasmine's__ and Perry's along with everyone else from college__. Not that everyone from college is going to be there, just some people I used to know. Well not everyone I used to know. Never mind. You get what I mean, with any luck. I always have been crap at writing letters._

_I need to get out. I know __she's__ gone, but you keep g__oing on about me getting better, but its so tense here and you lot are stressed too!_

_I'll come back eventually, I promise. _

He puts the pen down, and then picks it up the suitcase, which is surprisingly heavy. Vince distantly realises he has no clean underwear, or anything that practical at all really, so to compensate at least a little for his stupidness, he shuffles to the bathroom and grabs the toothbrush, stuffing it into his back pocket, imagining he looks like a neon tramp, only a bit less scruffy.

His gaze lingers on the razor stuffed clumsily into the wire basket at the back of the bath for a little too long, and Vince finds himself thinking of forbidden relief from all the drama and...

If it was really going to be a new start, or whatever, he needs to leave it behind, even though he'll probably regret it later.

Clicking off the light he tiptoes down the stairs and picks up a key from the telephone table, replacing it with the letter, then listening intently to the quiet voices from the living room. Confident nobody is coming, he unhooks the latch on the door, and heads back out into the dark.

**This may be the last chapter...****i**** haven't quite decided yet...yeah.****Please review!**


	16. Chapter 16

The child sat, scowling into its glass of milk, and prodding at the suitcase with a large stick affectionately named Lenny. Jasmine returned, handed Vince a drink, and sunk back down into the bean bag, continuing the previous conversation without missing a beat.

"Do you get clichés in clanger pyjamas? Cos I really don't want to be one...dammit, I _knew_ I should've bought the Moomins ones instead..." She paused, and cocked her head to the baby monitor, perched dangerously on the coffee table, then continued. "So, how's life been treating you?"

_...well, after__a suicide attempt that went a bit wrong, ta__k__ing up cutting, getting__ referred to a nut house, __spli__t__t__ing__ my best frie__nd up from his girlfriend and run__n__ing__ away from home...I'd say its actually going pretty bad at the minute..._

"Hmh? Oh it's been great, thanks. Its just I think its time to move on – everyone's got girlfriends moving in. Even Naboo. Well, soon enough by the look of it..."

She nodded, understanding, and was about to take another sip of fruit tea when her eyes suddenly widened.

"I haven't even introduced us! Bloody hell! Well. Obviously you know who I am. Well I hope you do." She grinned, suddenly looking a little awkward. "This is Vivienne, my daughter. She's five, aren't you sweetie?" Vivienne looked up and pouted, crossing her arms. "Sorry...she's a bit upset because daddy didn't visit today did he?" She looked at Vince through her unruly fringe and smiled ruefully.

"So, I take it you aren't still with Perry then?"

_Oh bugger__, why the hell would you say that? How thick-no, thoughtless could you be? Idiot, Vince! _

"God, no. He's her father though. After college we got this place and I got pregnant and he stuck around for a few months, but things just didn't work out, y'know? He was only twenty when she was born and that barely old enough to even look after yourself..." Her voice trailed off, and the smile lessened.

_Great.__Just wonderful.__ You've upset her. __Already.__ She was one of your best mates__ back then and now you've got her depressed too. Not that you are dep__ressed. __Just fucked up.__ Insane...and why the hell are you digging your nails into your arm? Stop being so pathetic and say something!_

The crackling of the monitor broke the silence, as a baby cried incessantly.

"Oh, fuck." She said, slamming her mug down and heaving her slight frame up. "Sorry, that'll be Will...can you watch her just a minute?" Jasmine disappeared round the door and let the door swing shut.

"Yeah, sure." Vince replied, putting the empty cup down. "So, you're viviene, then? Its a pretty name isn't it?"Trying to make conversation, despite the fact he didn't much like children. The girl looked up and scowled.

"Isn't. Sounds funny." She muttered, burying her head in the stuffed toy she was holding sleepily. "Don't like you ei'ver"

_Oh brilliant. __Disliked even by children now._

"How come?" He said, abruptly beyond caring

"Cause mummy has men round lots. And they never stay long." She rolled her eyes, then snuggled further into the sofa, and watched the TV idly.

Vince continued to sit in stunned silence, feeling familiarly unwelcome, when his phone ignorantly trilled to life.

And Howard's number flashed violently on screen.

**It was rubbish, I know. **

**But still. Please review **


	17. Chapter 17

**This chapter is dedicated to the lovely Kirstie. Your mum is wrong, and you are brilliant, and also to Corrine, who is many different kinds of awesome.**

Three days.

Three days before Howard actually knows where Vince is.

He's tried, its not to be mistaken. Rang his mobile, everyone scrawled down in the crumbling phonebook in neon gel pen, and even asked Mrs Figg, the nosey old busy-body in the flat beneath if she's seen Vince in passing, or seen him at all really, but the answer is always the same. A terrifying "no".

Its round about then, that he begins to imagine the worst, that perhaps Vince _has_ gone off and done something stupid _again_, or even succeeded in doing something this time, and that prospect doesn't even bear thinking about, because if he does so for too long, Howard gets ridiculously choked up, then flies into a bit of a rage and trashes random items of furniture, before sitting and brooding for the rest of the night, in a way which has Naboo and his girlfriend on edge.

The he sees the post it note stuck precariously to the front of the fridge, half hidden beneath a till receipt from god knows when, but its there, and it takes a few seconds before relief takes hold and Howard can actually focus enough to read it properly.

"_Staying at Jasmine's._

_I'll be in touch. _

_Vince_

_X"_

And that's it. Not an explanation, address, landline number. Not even an apology. He feels unexplainably hurt.

It's Monday, and despite Naboo's best efforts to find where Vince says he's staying (which have included a useless encounter with a TomTom sat nav, that told him Jasmines House was a Disney attraction, before he hurled it out the window, and a trawl round Camden and Shoreditch) he still remains clueless, and tries to be upbeat about the situation, but its damn near impossible, and he just ends up snapping at Corrine or someone, then apologising profusely and making dinner, and maybe crying a tiny bit because _something_ is really fucked up.

Bollo, however, in such a time of crisis, has taken to doing most of the housework, and subsequently lectures anyone if they leave a paper on the sofa or shut the cat in the cupboard or something, then announces he's off djing, as at present he is the only person bringing a regular wage into the house, since Howard did not like the prospect of going back to work with his vengeful, manipulative ex.

Eventually though, despite numerous hare-brained ideas, everyone realises that the most they can do is wait.

Vince has been having a considerably better time. He actually has his own room now that Jasmine has cleared out the old box room, and it's pretty big, and tastefully decorated if a bit bare. But, more importantly, he has a job, at Zavvi, with flexible hours and pretty cool people working there, so that's a definite improvement, and yeah, things are going pretty good.

Then there's a stab of guilt, because it's like he's saying he prefers it here to back in the flat, and it suddenly seems like staying here is much more permanent that he expected, which is damn scary.

Anyway. He can't dwell today, because it's just gone eight in the morning, and he needs to be at the shop for nine, so after dragging himself out of bed and having a quick shave, he heads downstairs, feeling proud that all he's used the razor for _is_ shaving, even though he's itching to use it for an ulterior motive.

Pushing the thought aside, he eventually heads into the kitchen, and sits down at the table after switching on the coffee machine, whilst Vivienne was sat at the kiddy table, scowling, and Jasmine was perched on the counter top, mixing a bottle of formula milk with practiced ease.

"Morning!" She says brightly, though there are dark circles under her eyes. "I'll get you some cornflakes or something in a minute, I've just gotta get Will in his carry cot..." She trails off, and urges her daughter to eat her cereal faster otherwise she'll be late for school _again._

Vince feels quite happy, because it's such a normal, mundane carry on, and nobody is treading on eggshells around him, which is _good_ because he hasn't felt this relaxed in ages. So, after downing his drink and briefly checking his appearance in the mirror, he begins to collect his thing together, and is almost out the door, when the little girl jabs him none too softly in the leg with her lunch bag.

"You haven't had breakfast!" She says, somewhat accusingly.

"Shut up!" Vince manages to hiss, before Jasmine is coming back down the stairs, tiptoeing , presumably to ensure she does not wake the sleeping baby upstairs.

"Mummy, Vince hasn't had breakfast!" She says, tapping her foot impatiently. _Snitch, _thinks Vince, digging his nails into his palm. Jasmine looks up, slightly concerned.

"It's okay – I'm never hungry in the mornings." He mutters, smiling, despite the fact he now seems to be more bone that flesh- no, fat. _And likes it._

_**I updated! Whooo!**_

_**But meh, dunno how I feel about this chapter – tell me if I've cocked it up!**_

_**Please review!**_


	18. Chapter 18

**Gah, right. Before you all read, please promise not to hunt me down and kill me...m'kay? Cos I didn't mean to make it this depressing – well. Maybe I did a bit, but still. Things will get better, I promise. **

Vince should not be cold. Its winter, given, but the heating is on full blast and he's wearing a non-descript dressing gown, and is wrapped up in a duvet. But despite this, it's as though someone has left a window open, and even the bed sheets are icy. So, reluctantly, he slumps from out of bed and grips onto the wall – not that it'll do much good if he does collapse – but because the head rush of getting up too fast makes the room spin and the edges of his vision go all patchy.

Recovering slightly, he settles into the usual routine of getting together some clean clothes for a shower, seen as the house is empty _for once_. The size of the clothing is depressing, too large and imperfect. Vince feels a spike of disgust and self loathing for actually eating last night; some kind of creamy curry with nann breads loaded with oil and cream, probably full fat.

Just when it gets easy to resist, when he _almost_ gets used to crippling hunger spasms, he blows it all. Days and days of resistance and only drinking weak tea or water had gone to waste just like _that_. Not that anyone notices.

Jasmine is far too wrapped up in a new bloke she's seeing, and the awful children are usually at a childminders or relatives anyway, but that's _okay_ because if anyone did notice, he'd be packed off to hospital. Again. Vince doesn't even see what the problem is. He's coping. He's got a job. There's nothing wrong with watching what you eat, especially when you _need to_.

Eventually, he wanders through to the bathroom and undresses carefully, in front of the unforgiving full-length mirror, becoming morbidly transfixed with his own reflection. He's not got the gaunt stage yet – the ribs do not protrude garishly. Merely half evident bumps beneath death-pale skin. The hip bones however, in Vince's opinion, look only a little better. They now jut out at a decidedly odd angle, but not quite enough. The stomach is he worse. It isn't concave. Just flat. _Fat. _

Suddenly, he's back home, re-living a heated argument with Howard a few weeks ago, who threw an article about some anorexic celeb onto the breakfast table, whilst he was eating dry rice crispies from a sugar bowl.

"That's you." He mutters voice with a sharp edge to it. Vince looks up, nonplussed.

"No, that's Victoria Beckham." _Who only does it for attention. _

"Bloody hell, Vince! You're fucking wasting away!" Howards voice sounds harsh, possibly worried.

"I eat stuff!" Defensive, as always. _It's not my fault I'm fat!_

"You count how many pieces of cereal you have! You eat barely two meals a day, then leave half of it! You're so selfish; were all worried about you...we're all scared. I try to help and you just blank me!"

"Well I'm happy! I've barely lost weight!"_ Don't be mad at me, please don't be mad. I don't want to hurt anyone...it's not that bad._

"So happy you tried to top yourself last month?!"

Vince freezes. Struggles to breathe for a second or two and drops his gaze. He glares at Howard and tries desperately to conceal the hurt. Can't think of anything to say. Insults and quick comebacks stick in his throat, so instead, he storms off in what he hopes is a good imitation of anger and sulks in his room, wishing it would just end.

The spell is broken by a noise downstairs – post being delivered with and efficient click of metal, and he's back to the present, still gazing through the mirror, not wanting to look.

He's not anorexic. Can't be. People they feature in cheap, soul stealing magazines like _Heat_, have thin, lanky hair and bones which Vince can't even identify on himself and white hairs all over their arms and chapped, crumbling lips and _bruises_.

_His_ spinal cord doesn't stand out from his back, nor do his collarbones dip halfway into his neck. Anorexics think they are fat, think being the operative word because he _is_ fat, so he's not deluded, which means he's fine.

There's a niggling doubt though. He's never seen anyone else pause to consider how many calories are in toothpaste, or purposely break the scales because they _lie_ and he _can't _be that heavy.

He finally stands, and goes to turn on the shower when something catches his eye – the unmistakable glint of a razor, still packaged and sealed in a sterile, plastic box.

This time, Vince doesn't even try to resist.

**Please review!**

**x**


	19. Chapter 19

**Hellooo! Sorry I haven't updated in ages, as pathetic as it sounds, this Easter hol has gone by pretty stressfully, with prom worries and general creepiness. Anyway. I know it's bit angst riddled AGAIN, but things are looking up. ;-)**

It wasn't meant to be like this. When people go out they supposedly have fun, have some drinks and laugh a bit. Vince, however, was propped up against the bar, in some unnamed club and drinking like a fish. Alone.

He wasn't happy. More numb and indifferent..._uncaring? _No. Not uncaring. He still cared enough about how he looked to not eat the massive cone of chips Jasmine bought him, even though some malevolent part of him wishes he had, just to stop the crippling pains and cramps and lethargy. But most of him, feels proud in a warped way, that he actually managed to fake eating – making out to be going upstairs to get ready and actually just hiding the food in his disused suitcase. _Sick. _That's what Howard called him when he'd found out. That was only...a couple of weeks ago. It seemed ages.

"_Vince, are you in there?" Howard had been knocking on the bathroom door, voice deceptively calm, whilst Vince had been turning the bathroom upside down in an effort to find the scales, which were mysteriously absent. _

"_Yeah, won't be a minute..." He'd just managed to pull a bathrobe round his otherwise naked, shower-fresh self before the door swung open. _

"_I need to talk to talk to you." __**Oh god. **__Vince'd thought. But Howard was smiling. So maybe it wasn't that bad. He felt himself relax a bit. "Did you enjoy dinner?"__** Oh no. Here we go again. **_

"_Yeah, of course I did! You put too much on my plate though." He'd smiled back, trying to fake some kind of truth. Howard's expression changed though, to a more slightly annoyed one. _

"_I always put too much on you plate! Or something that isn't too healthy!"_

"_At least I'm eating!"_

"_You aren't though are you?" _

_**...Oh. This isn't good. Say something! Come up with an excuse! Anything!**_

"_I thought I could trust you! Even Naboo said you been eating, even Corrine did! Bollo too, and he doesn't even usually mention it to me! Have you been bribing them? To lie for- no, with you?"_

"_No! They wouldn't do that!" __**He's just pretending to care. He just wants you better so you can start working again; actually pull your own weight around here for once.**_

_**Hah. Weight. **_

"_Then that the fuck's going on? How come I've just found your rucksack – the one you never use- full of last weeks meals? Its sick! Why do you do it?"_

_Vince'd just stood there, blinking.._

_**I can't get out of this one. I can't escape. **_

"_I'm waiting for an answer."_

"_Huh?" His voice was all weird. Stuttering. Dry. _

"_Why do you do it. You aren't fat-"_

_**I am though. **_

"_You don't need to loose weight. I want to help you, but how can I when I don't understand?" Howard's voice was hushed. _

"_Its fine, I just don't get hungry!" __**Don't let them find out, don't let them see the scars.**_

"_Bollocks, I've seen you drag yourself out of bed in the mornings. You look days worth of tired even if you go to bed as soon as you get in, then all you have for breakfast is black coffee with low-cal sweetener and a biscuit."_

_**Silence. No smart comeback this time, eh?**_

"_After this week, when Christmas and New Year are done with. You are going to eat, even if I make you."_

Vince was jerked back into the present by someone knocking into him with a drink. A girl, no older than twenty gave him a quick once-over glance and slurred an apology before stumbling back into the crowd of dancers.

He wanted to go _home_. Not the one he had at Jasmines either. He missed being asked after and care for and having someone to remind him of stuff.

_You're so selfish. _Said another part of him, probably the more lucid given his current drunk state. _You just want Howard and everyone else to be all worried and give you all the attention. _

_**But I want to go home. **_

_Fine then. Ring him, go on, I dare you. See if you can go a whole conversation without mentioning yourself. Think you can stand to hear him tell you he hates you? How he never wants to speak to you again?_

Vince stood up and walked towards the door, the room spinning horribly. The coolness of the alleyway compared to the sweltering heat inside takes him a moment or two to get used to. 

He can't shake the feeling of dizziness off, but sets about grabbing his phone from his jeans anyway.

_Surprising you actually made it outside. Your gonna phone home then? Another sad little story? Oh Howard, I'm all alone and lost and fucked up! Help! _

_Should be amusing. I bet he's much better off anyway. _

_**He won't be! He wouldn't do that to me...would he?**_

Vince starts punching the numbers in defiantly, when a wave of nausea seems to creep up his throat, and he finds himself retching dryly. Still clutching the phone, he slides down the wall, not entirely of his own accord, and sags against the wall, out cold.

**Not too sure how I feel about this update, have a suspicion it may be majorly crap, but pah, it beats doing work. **

**Please review, I'll give ya fairy cakes!**

**xx**


	20. Chapter 20

**Right, tis the last chapter! Hope everyone likes it – seems hard to believe I've been writing this since July 2007!**

**Many, many, many thanks to Corrine, for putting up with my crappy snippets and madness in the early hours, and also to ****starsofandromeda****, for help with the eating disorders stuff in the last chapter.**

**Anyway. On with the show...**

"Another one?" Sighs the tired-looking consultant, Markman, Putting a clip file record onto the reception desk. She pushes one hand through her hair. "We shouldn't have to deal with drunks and addicts. Last week we had two clowns, and someone in a leather cat suit, plastered, arguing over who used the coffee machine first. " She continues, taking a mint from the dish next to the equally comatose admin staff. "All Friday and early hours of Saturday we get 'em coming in, chucking up everywhere and we're still paid bloody peanuts. Things get stranger by the day around here, I swear." This earns a grunt of agreement from behind the monitor. She pauses, looks around guiltily, and on seeing the ward director at the far end of the ward, disappears into a random cubicle, where she is confronted by a particularly effeminate looking man surrounded by someone in a particularly lurid Hawaiian shirt and a tiny person in a turban. _Yeah. Stranger by the day._

"Is there any news?" Howard jumps up and almost shouts in Markman's face, wincing slightly at the cliché. Not caring though.

She paused, and spun on the balls of her feet.

"There's no news as such. Your friend has undergone gastric lavage due to alcohol intoxication and is currently under tertiary level sedation." Howard looked perplexed, slightly agitated. "He got drunk, had his stomach pumped and is sleeping it off." She says, with practiced ease, although after flipping through the patient history chart, the crease in her brow deepens a little.

"Is there a history of eating disorders in his family?"

"We...we don't-I mean Vince doesn't really talk about his family much. His mum phones on his birthday though. Don't you have these things on record?"

"Not when names or locations change...it's why we ask patients to alert us of these things. But back to the point. Since he was last admitted he's lost three kilos. Three and a half if you consider water loss. This is a dangerous amount of weight to loose in such a short amount of time. We have to consider the possibility of anorexia-"

"I knew it." Says Naboo from the background. It's the first time he's spoken, and he sounds all wrong. Prehaps a little bit choked up, like seeing someone's ribs through a hospital gown has suddenly made everything so much worse. How can you expect someone to get _better_ when they're so fucked up they stop eating altogether? A reality check.



Howard can hardly think straight. He's gone from elation to worry to anger and finally, to _guilt_, because why didn't he do something sooner? He was always telling Vince to eat, always threatening, but never actually _doing_ anything. He hadn't even twigged when he'd found the full length mirror in the bin (one shard missing), or the batteries missing from the scales _months_ before Vince had actually blatantly cut his food intake and started to obsess.

There's a stirring from the bed, but the doctor continues talking.

"It also says here about a suicide attempt, possible self harm issues. It seems to be pointing towards some degree of depression, its not uncommon, but I will refe-"

The rest of the words filtered out, swallowed up in the unrelenting silence and the heart monitor going barely half a beat faster. The _rasprasprasp_ of _someone _struggling to breathe around the intubation.

...

The problem comes when Vince's brain wakes up before his insides do and blind panic sets in when he finds he cant actually _breathe_. He hasn't even opened his eyes yet, but he can just tell there's a flurry of movement around him. Weirdly distorted shouts bounce off the walls as something is getting pulled out of his throat, scraping and ripping and making him gip, but then, when he tries to inhale, the air goes in instead of getting caught behind the plastic valve.

_Okay. I can breathe. Wait. Where the fuck am i?_

He tries to open his eyes – succeeded. Everything was blurry. Random shapes and the stark smell of _clean_ and the crinkle of starched-white sheets.

_No... Not here, again. How did he even get he-wait why. Why am I here? I can't think. Have I done something stupid again? Have I fucked things up for good? Got the attention I always wanted-_

Everything drops into focus too quickly, too many bright colours and blinding ivory. Someone's got their fingers clasped around his wrist, holding on tight. He reflexively flinches away, even though the paper hospital gown shows off every single scar – a paint palette from vivid red to beige, barely visible.

Vince eventually hauls himself upwards, so he's leaning back on the mattress. Thoughts suddenly flash back up, and everything that was fine suddenly isn't, and he remembers every painstaking detail and every hurt of the past few weeks in Technicolor. Howard _hates _him. Naboo doesn't even care anymore. He's sure of it.

So why are they here?

"Whha" Is all that stutters out. Croaks. He can't even speak now. A failure like always. Somewhere from the side a doctor with pointed, youthful features hands him, or rather tips the contents of a glass tumbler down his throat. It feels oily-sweet. _Fattening?_ But at least it makes it easier to talk.



"What are you doing here?" It's still a small voice, bitten off oddly towards the end. Howard has smudgy dark circles under his eyes and Naboo doesn't even know his turban is on upside down and back to front. They both stare at him. Howard makes a gruff little whimpering noise that Vince thinks might be upse-

_No. He's better off without you. Don't make him feel guilty. Don't make him stay. _

He still finds himself hoping though.

"You don't care." It just slips out. Unintentional and only faintly more eloquent.

"What?" Naboo sounds pissed off more than anything. A bit hurt. "Are you stupid? We've been looking for you for weeks. We thought you were dead, we thought we'd never see you again! " Howard tries to silence him, but the unyielding tension is still there.

"We do care." Someone's holding his hand, but he doesn't really dare take his gaze away from the curtain opposite, wavering in the breeze. Besides, its reassuring, in an odd way.

Vince still doesn't fully believe it though. That they are actually here, for some other reason that to warn him to stay out of their lives forever. He automatically says something about how sorry he is. Howard starts talking again, all rushed, unrehearsed and comforting.

_Relief. _

"It's gonna be okay though, Vince. We're gonna get it sorted this time. The doctors know what's wrong and-and it's going to work." He's actually on the verge of tears. Vince is too, but only on the inside. Its like he wants to cry but...he just can't.

And..._oh. So this is what it's been like for them. You thought you were making everything alright and you haven't you've just made it worse. You can't keep being selfish. _

_You can't. _The first clear thought in a while.

"It's gonna be okay." Snaps him out of the daydream, the delusions.

Slowly, Vince nods.

**-The End-**

**Okay, that's it. I /tried/ to make it a happy-ish one (namely, as, if I hadn't, someone in particular would've killed me in my sleep).**

**Please tell me what you think and click the review button ;)**

**xxxx**


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